


Keep On Keepin' On

by tabulaxrasa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/pseuds/tabulaxrasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before they face Lucifer, all bets are off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep On Keepin' On

**Author's Note:**

> Set between 5x21 and 5x22, written before the S5 finale aired, so no finale spoilers.
> 
> Title from "Oh Lord" by Foxy Shazam.

Sam and Bobby are locked in the study, looking up things Dean doesn't want to think about. He's been sticking around the armory, cleaning every gun he can find, sharpening knives, polishing anything that stands still long enough. He's okay on his own, not thinking about anything at all.

So of course Cas sidles in, hovering in the doorway and slinking around the walls like he's not sure he should be there. Dean's pretty sure Cas _shouldn't_ be here. He should be somewhere far, far away, but that's not an option, and given everything else, Cas has as much right to be here as Dean does.

Just... not while Dean's here.

"You've been busy," Cas says.

"Yeah," Dean says.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Dean looks around, but already knows he's going to say "I think I've got it all."

Castiel nods, and sits down next to Dean, curling into a ball. He's never seen Cas do that before, it's oddly childlike.

"My stomach hurts," Cas says, a small frown on his face, the one that means he's puzzled. Cas isn't complaining, it's a statement of fact.

Dean gives him a tired but not unsympathetic smile. "Yeah? Mine too."

Cas's stomach rumbles, loudly. Dean almost laughs. "Hey," he says. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Ate?" Cas looks blank.

"Right," Dean sighs. He looks around, but he's done here, so he stands up and lightly shoves Cas's shoulder. "Come on, let's see if there's anything edible left in this place."

 

Dean can't really cook but he can make enough to keep himself alive. He thrills like an eight year old to find a box of mac and cheese. There's just enough milk left to make it, and Dean keeps himself busy for awhile with cooking.

He can feel Castiel's eyes on him but pretends he doesn't.

_Just_ macaroni and cheese seems kind of pathetic when every meal could be their last, so Dean digs around some more while the pasta's boiling and finds hot dogs in the freezer— score!

Hot dogs in the mac and cheese and some potato chips and that's totally, like, four food groups (potatoes are a vegetable, shut up Sam). Add the most important food group of all— beer— and it's a respectable dinner.

Castiel had occupied himself setting the table. Because Cas is a total freak, he folded the napkins and everything. Dean raises his beer bottle and Cas hurries to raise his and clink their bottles together.

"Here's to the end of the world," Dean says, and takes a long pull off the beer. Cooking is thirsty work. They eat for a little while in silence.

"Too bad there's no pie," Cas says hesitantly.

Dean smiles. He hadn't realized how hungry he was; he's feeling better already, calmer. Cas even smiles back a little, and _of course_ that's when Crowley shows up.

He doesn't come through the door because he never does; he's just suddenly in the room with them. Dean doesn't think his jump is too visible.

"Awww," says Crowley, "it's a _date!_"

Dean has an inexplicable urge to blush. Fuck that. "Sorry, didn't make enough for assholes," he says. "You'll have to get take out."

"Oh, don't worry," Crowley says. "I wouldn't dream of interrupting your little... _tete a tete._ Remember, kids," he puts on a fake sincere face, "I know it's the apocalypse and all, but—" he puts something small and flat on the table— "safe sex is good sex."

And he's gone, of course, because he never stays long enough for Dean to punch him in the face like he deserves. Dean sneaks a look at Cas, who looks confused and kind of red, and he's staring at the table... where of course Crowley put a condom.

Dean snatches it off and, at a loss what to do with it, puts in his pocket. He feels like a kid again, when condoms were strange and mysterious and kind of dangerous instead of just something you use.

Dean can't meet Cas's eyes. God, what is wrong with him?

Cas looks like he's about to ask a question, then like he's trying to decide which question to ask. Finally, he just says "Demons."

"Yeah," Dean says, with feeling.

They go back to eating.

They're done with the mac and cheese and just eating the last of the chips when Cas sits up straight, clears his throat, and says "You've been avoiding me."

"What? No I haven't. It's just been… crazy." It's not a lie and it is. Dean hasn't been avoiding Cas, he's been avoiding being alone with Cas. There's a difference.

"I— are you upset with me? I apologized for not trusting you earlier but—"

"No, no," Dean says quickly. "That's not— that's fine, I told you. We're cool."

"Cool," Castiel repeats, frowning and studying his napkin like a picture of Jesus appeared on it.

Oh, for fuck's sake. They had dinner and now they're talking about their relationship. It _is_ a date, and somewhere— probably the next room— Crowley is laughing at them.

Dean has been doing his best to avoid being alone with Cas. It isn't something he decided, really; it's just that when he's alone with Cas— like now— he doesn't feel like himself, he feels jittery in his own skin and on edge, and there is enough other shit going on right now. Dean doesn't have time to deal with things that are not Sam being taken over by Lucifer or everyone dying.

It's just another thing that sucks about his life. Cas was pretty much his best friend who wasn't Sam, and then for awhile he hadn't really been friends with Sam and Cas had been _it._ Dean had had a lot more fun with Cas then he'd had with anyone else for a long time, and then something had changed. Being alone with Cas wasn't relaxing or companionable, there was weird tension and everything seemed charged and Dean jumped every time Castiel moved.

Something changed some time between seeing Cas with all his groupies in the future and seeing Cas devastated and wasted, sprawled all over Dean's bed like... like... like someone sprawled all over Dean's bed. Dean doesn't think he's the only one affected, but it can be hard to tell with Cas. You can't really use human rules.

Not even now.

He finally takes a good look at Cas. The bags under his eyes are darker than ever, and he looks thin and pale, and his jaw has that confused/stubborn set to it that makes it look crooked. Dean wants to push it back into place.

He reaches across the table and grabs Cas's plate and fork. He stacks them with his and takes everything over to the sink. He fills the pot with water to soak. There's no way he's doing dishes when the world might end tomorrow. Not unless Bobby kicks his ass about it, anyway.

"You should get some sleep," Dean says, still facing the sink. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Cas says. "You too, Dean Winchester, look like a pile of manure."

Dean turns around and grins because Cas's deadpan is seriously one of his favorite things in the world. Cas smiles back, a little. As much as he ever does.

Dean wipes his hands on his jeans. "Come on," he says. "There will be a bed somewhere around here." And he heads out of the kitchen without checking to see if Cas follows.

 

The room Dean usually sleeps in at Bobby's is small, but with Cas in there it feels miniscule. Which is weird, because he's been in there with Sam and it didn't seem so close.

"So, um, knock yourself out," Dean tries to gesture at Cas and the bed without looking at either.

"Dean," Cas says, voice low and hesitant. "I'm... not used to sleeping. What if I dream?"

"What if you _dream?_" Dean's so surprised he forgets to not look at Cas.

Cas looks sincerely worried. "Angels don't dream, and I have heard they are... unpleasant."

"Well, they can be. They can be, uh, pleasant, too." Although the chances of any of them having good dreams right now are about nil. "It's just a dream. You guys walk in them all the time."

"That's different."

"Of course it is. Hey, Cas— does that mean you haven't slept since you woke up in that hospital?" Dean's not sure how many days it's been— he has trouble keeping track, lately— but it can't be good.

Cas shrugs. "I've... dozed?... here and there."

Dean sighs, rubs his eye. "Just lay down. You'll be fine." He needs to go. Cas looks bedraggled and it's appealing on a level Dean hasn't had enough time to freak out about yet.

His feet aren't moving, though. Dean leans against the door and it shuts. He should go. Cas takes a few wandering steps, not toward the bed, but toward Dean. Cas was starting to get better about personal space, but he seems to be relapsing.

Dean doesn't want to leave, that's the problem. There's nothing for him to do downstairs except think about how Sam is going to fight Satan on his own, and it fills him with the same helpless rage he's felt about it since the beginning.

"We're going out to die tomorrow," Cas says, all solemn and gravelly.

Dean chokes out a laugh and bounces his own head off the door. "Are you giving me the last night on Earth speech? Really?" It hurts to think about the last time he joked about this, like fists squeezing his heart and throat and digging their claws in.

Everything hurts, actually, and everything sucks, and he and Sam are so, so fucked— and so is Cas, and so is Bobby, and that's everyone he still cares about.

"Fuck it," Dean says, and pushes off the door, almost falling forward. He hands come up and he catches himself by grabbing onto Castiel's lapels, because the dork's still wearing his coat.

"Dean?" Cas sounds unsure, confused.

"This is what you want, right?"

"I don't know."

Dean feels exhaustion-drunk and tired of his life, and like he just wants something different, something else. The last temptation of Dean Winchester. "Sure you do," he says, and pulls an unresisting Cas closer.

There's a part of Dean that's pleased Cas clearly doesn't have the hang of kissing, the part of him that doesn't like to think of Cas going around kissing other people or having drug-fueled orgies or whatever. But no one ever said Castiel was dumb; he's a fast learner, and Dean's pretty grateful for that, too.

His mouth is wide open and welcoming, warm and wet enough to drown in. The rasp of Cas's stubble against his own is electrifying, way more intoxicating than Dean thought it could be. Cas's mouth is turning hard and hungry against his, and Dean pulls him closer, gets a hand in his hair like he's not thought about a hundred times. They're trying to pull each other closer but their clothes and their own feet get in the way, and they stumble until Dean's back slams into the door, making it rattle on its hinges.

Why does Cas have to walk around in eight hundred items of clothing, anyway? What is that about? Dean finally twists Cas out of the fucking overcoat and tosses it on the floor. Cas bites Dean's neck, hard, under his jaw, and it jolts straight through him. His knees buckle and Dean's pinned between Cas and the door. It's one of the better places he's been.

But he still shoves Cas back, because it's the last night of their lives and there are better ways to do this. Cas's tie is hilariously askew, his hair is completely crazy even for Cas, his mouth is open as he pants, and his face is red and his eyes glazed. Fallen angel, indeed.

Dean grins, kind of surprised at himself, and pushes Cas over to the bed. "Too many clothes, man," he says. "Really."

Cas looks briefly startled, then begins shedding his clothes. Dean follows suit— he's always liked efficiency. Then they're naked and it's briefly awkward because there are more naked men in this room then Dean's used to.

But only briefly, because when Dean thinks about it for a second, he realizes he really doesn't care, that Cas may be a dude but he also looks amazing and Dean _wants_, and why the hell is he still on this side of the room, anyway?

Dean pushes Cas down on the bed, and Castiel reaches up and puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, on that shoulder, to pull him down.

"Was it worth it?" Dean asks, settling on the bed next to him. "Pulling me out of Perdition?"

Cas's face is solemn, considering. "We'll see," he says, and Dean finds himself laughing before Cas pulls him into another kiss.

"I told you I wouldn't let you die a virgin, Cas," Dean grins. "I keep my word."

It feels different, yes, but not bad. Just new. It's a bit strange to run his hands up Cas's chest and not really find anything to grab onto, but Dean's past caring, and when their dicks brush together— even though it's on accident, that first time— it feels way, way better than Dean ever thought it would. And it gives him something to do with his hands.

He thinks he's making little noises deep in his throat but he doesn't care. Castiel's hands and mouth are rough, hard, adding bruises to all the physical marks Cas has already left all over him, on his shoulder, on his ribs.

It feels good, the flare of pain adding to the growing pressure of pleasure, everything spiraling down to this, the rest of the miserable world locked away until it's just Dean and Cas right here right now, no future to worry about not having.

There's just the slide of Cas beneath him, the look on his face and the noises he's making, his breath on Dean's ear, just friction and rhythm and something ancient and instinctual. And Dean doesn't have to be gentle, which is what he needs right now; to let himself go, lose himself, and he doesn't have to be careful or tender or kind, all those things Dean can't be right now.

Cas's hips are sharp under his, and Dean can bite, and lick the salt off Cas's neck, and dig his fingers into his flesh and finally, finally leave his own marks on Castiel, which is something he's wanted to do for longer than he would have guessed.

They trade, thrust for thrust, bites and scratches and bruises and kisses until there's nothing but this, never been anything but this, but it's gonna end soon and that's both good and bad. Castiel comes first because Dean wants him to, because he knows how to add a twist to his wrist to make that happen. He swallows Cas's cries, reveling in the sting of Cas's nails down his side.

Dean wipes his hand on the sheet and grabs Cas's hips to pull him closer. Dean's so close, almost there, and Cas's hand tightens around him again, enough, and a few more thrusts and Dean's gone too, flying and scattering and not himself anymore at all.

He's sticky and sweaty and blissed-out high. He's also curled up on his side with his head on Cas's shoulder. He'd be embarrassed but he's still too full of endorphins to feel anything else.

"I used to be afraid I would Fall," Cas says out of nowhere. Dean can feel the vibration of Cas's voice through his jaw. "The other angels were not concerned. Disobedience never crossed their minds. They always believed in their own righteousness. A few of them, of course, were different, the ones who left, but most of them never worried. I always worried. I was always anxious. I didn't know how it could happen to me, how I could doubt or disobey or not love God, but I was worried that it would someday happen to me. And then I met you, Dean Winchester, and I wondered no longer."

"Huh?" Dean has no idea how Cas is so eloquent right now, but he better not expect that from Dean.

"Not long after I met you, after I saved you and began working with you, even before I felt the beginnings of doubt, I knew how it could be that I would Fall. I realized that if I Fell, it would be for you."

Dean has no freaking idea what he's supposed to say to that. He can't tell if Cas is mad— he doesn't seem mad, but it can be hard to tell with him. Dean really doesn't want to fight right now.

He feels Cas's hand on his hair, stroking lightly.

"I'm sorry?" Dean finally says.

"It's not your fault," Cas says. "It's for you but not of you. I had to know you. You didn't have to know me."

"Yeah, well," Dean moves his head so he can see Cas's face a little. "I'd say you should've left me in Hell but we'll all be there soon enough."

"You won't go back to Hell, Dean," Cas says, sounding surprisingly certain. "Not now."

"No? Even though the angels hate me?"

Cas smiles a little. "Even though the angels hate you."

 

The next morning when they're loading the car, Sam manages to get Dean alone. "Dean," he says. "What's all over your face, man?"

"Uh, um, what?" Dean leans far into the trunk. "There's nothing on my face, dude."

"Except beard burn," Sam snorts.

"What the fuck?" Dean turns around to stare at Sam, who's smirking. Dean turns back to the trunk. "Fuck off."

"I mean—" based on his tone of voice, Sam's really enjoying this— "sure, last night Crowley busts in to tell us you and Cas are upstairs, and I quote, 'shagging', but we thought he was, you know, exaggerating or lying or something. 'Cause he's a demon."

"Seriously?" Dean shouts. "You're about to go face Lucifer and you wanna discuss my love life?"

Sam raises his eyebrows like a bastard. "So it's a love life now, not a sex life?"

Dean sputters. It's really ineffective.

Sam grins and pats Dean's shoulder. "It's okay man, you can share your feelings—"

"Sammy! We've got serious shit to do today— I can't even talk about how fucked up what we're about to do is— and you're giving me crap about—"

"Okay, okay!" Sam holds up his hands. "Chill. I just wanted something to take my mind off the Lucifer thing for a second."

"Oh." Of course he did, shit. "Right, sorry."

They're silent a moment before Sam picks up, bright and cheerful. "So, you and Cas! When the hell did that happen?"

"Last night. It was just... a thing. An end of the world thing. You know."

"Uh huh." Sam doesn't sound convinced at all. Fucking Sam. "You do know he's a guy, right?"

"Are you giving me shit for that? Do you have some kind of problem, Sammy?"

"What! No!" Sam is horrified, and Dean fights back a smile. Sam continues to trip over himself like a total pussy to reassure Dean that he'll always support Dean's life choices 100%.

Dean finally takes pity on him and points and laughs. "Dude!"

"Oh, screw you," Sam smiles. "You're the one with an angel boyfriend. And you weren't fooling anyone, by the way."

"He's not my—"

"What the hell are you idjits doing?" Bobby shouts, coming out of the door with an armful of rock salt, Cas and Crowley behind him. "You think we're going to Disneyland?"

"We should be," Dean shouts back. "If I was throwing an apocalypse, that's where I'd have it." He tries not to stare at Cas, but Cas is being a freak as usual and staring at him.

"If we survive this," Crowley drawls, "I'll take you _all_ to Disneyland."

"What a nice guy," Sam mutters under his breath.

"Disneyland is for after the apocalypse," Cas says, straight faced and monotoned as always. "Got it."

Bobby, long-suffering, drops the salt into the trunk and gives Dean a Look as he slams the trunk shut.

Sam takes a deep breath and runs a slightly shaking hand through his hair. "Into the mouth of Hell rode the six hundred."

"Or five idiots," Bobby says. "With about as much chance."

Dean doesn't know what they're talking about, but for just this moment, he doesn't care. "Everyone in the car," he calls, caressing her roof in case it's the last chance he gets. "We're going to Rock City."


End file.
